


Kintsugi

by Emmeri



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Credence needs a hug, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulative!Graves, Unhealthy Relationships, Vulnerable!Credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeri/pseuds/Emmeri
Summary: "Kintsugi. It’s a Japanese practice. When pottery breaks, instead of throwing it away, they fuse the broken pieces together with gold to create something even more beautiful. That's what you are to me, Credence.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> It might just be me, but Graves becomes a bigger dick every time I write him, and Credence can't figure out wtf he feels about this whole thing.  
> I would very much consider this non-con, but poor Credence isn't in the best state of mind to understand that, so this falls on the side of dub-con.  
> This Thanksgiving I'm grateful for the existence of Ezra Miller and his flawless performance of my son, Credence.

Heavy breaths, heavier hands. 

He screwed his eyes shut tighter, something hard pressing into that spot again to try to coerce noises from him. He was mortified when his hips wiggled of their own volition to improve the angle. Earned himself a deeper thrust, and he bit his lip. 

“You’re beautiful like this,” exhaled wetly against his ear, ghosting along the crook of his neck. 

His fingers fisted into the sheets, and his toes curled against his feet. The hand on his waist clenched tighter, jerking him up in timed pace. 

“I used to be angry at how quiet you were, but - “ he was cut off by his own desperate groan “ - Fuck, those faces you make to keep yourself from losing it. You’re gorgeous, Credence.”

He didn’t say anything, but opened his eyes to see Graves looking at him like he were the most beautiful possession in the world. 

From the moment he was able to grasp basic things, he understood that others viewed him as a thing, and rarely a person. Somehow 'possession' seemed kinder; it was easier to pretend he was wanted. 

Before he could truly avert his eyes - or, better yet, close them altogether - Graves leaned down for a kiss that started as gentle, but grew frenzied and sloppy until Credence reached his climax, was all teeth until Graves reached his. 

They stayed like that for a while, Graves panting and trembling above him, still inside him, and Credence feeling weak and used but oddly sated beneath him. 

At long last, Graves pulled out and collapsed next to him, a quick flick of his wand cleaning them both, and an arm snaking around his waist. 

Back pressed flush against a solid chest, Credence sighed in contentment and wormed closer, every inch of sweaty skin seeming to melt together until he couldn't tell what belonged to whom. 

“Those scars you had,” Graves voice was soft, almost reverent in their post-coital haze. “They were ugly. But I erased them, didn’t I? I made you this. I made you beautiful.”

He paused, and Credence took it as his cue to nod. It must have been the right thing, for a knee sneaked in between his own to bring them closer together. 

“But the scars that are coming now you’re earning. You can be proud of them,” Graves continued in a tone somehow even gentler. “You let them happen; you can take responsibility. But it’s alright, because they’re for me. They’re for _us_. Once you find the child, you can trace each mark and know that they were a meager payment for what I have to offer.”

Credence swallowed, the words whirling in the maelstrom that was his thoughts. Flashes of pain blending with snippets of release and blurring the line between he wanted and what he deserved. 

(Nothing he deserved was anything good.)

“You agree, don’t you? That they’re a small price to pay for making love?” 

“Making love? That’s what you'd call this?” He whispered before he could stop himself, the words tasting foul and pouring disease down his throat. 

“Would you rather me call it what is is? Fucking?” Spat with irritation and disdain, and a shudder wracked his lithe frame. 

The grip that had momentarily tightened in annoyance quickly relaxed, and a damp forehead rested against his neck, breath caressing his back. 

“I’m sorry. You just say these things, Credence. And I lose my temper. Haven’t you learned not to say such things?” He asked with a light sheen of condescension, almost as a mother would scold a child who couldn’t know any better but she wished did. 

It was strangely fitting. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence found himself saying, scrooching back further, hit with a sudden desire to relish in the heated skin while it was simply there - and not molding into him or milking something from him. 

A gentle press of lips between his shoulder blades. 

“It’s alright, Credence. I forgive you. This is a give and take relationship. I give you pleasure, and I take what is mine,” he added with a note of severity that had been absent up until then. 

Credence closed his eyes, tried to take the comfort in being held that he felt only moments before, but being too sucked up into the truths shoved down his throat at every turn. Hands were tracing his stomach, moved down to absently twirl the hair that thickened below it, glided upwards to toy with his chest. 

And, for a mere heartbeat, he allowed himself to believe the touches were out of love. 

“Kintsugi,” Graves murmured after so much time had passed that he had almost drifted off to sleep.

“Hmm?” It was a groggy mumble, and his eyes blearily blinked open. 

“Kintsugi,” repeated with more clarity. 

“I don’t know what that is,” he admitted, feeling foolish and young, and once again torn between gratitude and disgust that he was in a position to be used like this. 

“It’s a Japanese practice. When pottery breaks, instead of throwing it away, they fuse the broken pieces together with gold to create something even more beautiful,” Graves explained, fingers having returned to tickle his navel.

Credence craned his neck back to see the tender expression he’d always longed for but never witnessed; felt his throat catch and allowed himself to be turned to bury his face into a warm neck. 

“That’s what you are to me, Credence. Something broken that I’m going to fix into something beautiful.”

He sagged into him, nodded like he meant it, and hesitantly slipped an arm around the curve of the hip beside him. 

“Just like that,” Graves encouraged, securing the arm and pulling him closer with his own. “Together we can make you into something beautiful, something truly worthy of being loved.”

God, he wanted that. 

“All you have to do is - “

“I know,” he cut off wearily, some of the hope deflating. 

He was tired of being reminded that he couldn’t even find some child, tired of being too pathetic to pull himself out of the position he put himself in. 

“You know I’m trying,” he added in a sigh. 

“Be careful of your tone with me,” Graves warned, with less anger than those words usually held. 

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled back, pried a hand away to cup Credence’s cheek. 

“I know you are. That’s another reason why those scars are being earned. They’re helping you learn so much,” he leaned forward for a simple kiss; no tongue, no teeth - just lips against lips and Credence thought he maybe liked that as much as he liked being held. 

He was sure - so undeniably certain - that he’d never have anyone to be so intimate with him, and was more than willing to endure something as meaningless as sex to earn it. 

"You should get back to her soon," Graves finally commented, hands palming the curve of his lower back. 

"Just - just a few more minutes," Credence pleaded in a whisper. 

"Yeah, okay. It'll be alright. We'll make you beautiful, Credence."

And he closed his eyes and imagined a world where that could be true.


End file.
